Home
by Ben Jackson
Summary: Sam has been leaping on his own for some time before he comes across a very swiss-cheesed Al. They've got 2,000 miles to the Grand Canyon and two runaways to save along the way. Part 2 of the Two Leapers series.
1. Chapter 1

The great irony of Sam being a time traveler was that time no longer held any meaning to him. Days, months, years, it was all a blur. He had no idea how long he'd been leaping or to what end anymore. None, he supposed. Before, he had some hope that eventually there was a finish line, and the prize would be finally leaping home. But now that there was no possibility of that happening, now that he'd come to terms with the fact that he had no home now, he felt…aimless.

Of course he loved helping people. It was immensely rewarding to know that because of him, history had changed for the better. Or it would be, if he knew that it had. He no longer had any connection to the future, no one to tell him what there was to fix and what new history he'd created. For all he knew, he'd been failing every leap. He had only his intuition to guide him, and oh how wrong he'd been before. He didn't know what he was working towards, or who he was as this new Sam Beckett...without a tether to hold him.

Oh, Al. He missed the sound of a gravelly voice behind him. He missed the sight of cigar smoke and hearing lewd stories, the flashy outfits that gave him headaches. The corny jokes when he was feeling at his lousiest, the firm orders when he was putting his head up his you-know-what again. He missed a friendly connection to sanity, a reassurance that he was real and waited for and loved. His only constant, gone.

The last moments with Donna played on a loop in his mind. The look of anguish, then acceptance. Although she hadn't been aware of his intentions when he'd asked for her, it seemed she knew this was inevitable. After all, she'd never been able to hold onto him. And Sam, having done her a great wrong, was finally putting things right. It was better this way, he told himself.

Strange that he didn't miss her. He didn't remember enough to miss her, and that had been part of the problem all along.

He had to let them go. Leave his life behind. It was the right thing to do, and he always did the right thing in the end, or so he told himself. And his wounded heart bled and gaped in a way that would never quite heal.

How much time he'd spent leaping on his own now, he couldn't recall. He knew his hair had gotten long, if that was some measure. He hadn't felt the need to upkeep his own appearance; he was always hidden anyway. Not only had he lost track of time, he'd stopped counting near-misses and almost ends. Leaping unaided was precarious and wildly unpredictable, and he was surviving at best. And barely so on the last leap, he remembered, he'd fumbled so badly. What his matter of death would have been escaped him, but he could still taste the frigid panic of finality, the crushing feeling that this was his last day on earth. Alone.

He wasn't sure how long he could keep doing this. He wasn't sure how long he _wanted_ to keep doing this.

But he pressed on. It was the right thing to do.

The blue haze dissolved, and Sam found himself behind the wheel and driving down a winding mountain road. And before he even had time to blink, the vehicle was about to crash into a railing! With a panicked shriek, he veered the car away, the squealing tires tracing his path before screeching to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road.

"Oh boy…" he breathed.

The calm was short lived, however, because that's when he saw a car racing toward his crookedly parked vehicle. He held his breath and shut his eyes, but only heard an angry horn blare into the distance. He was afraid to look out again. Another near-miss to add to his list.

"Hey!" a youthful voice yelled from behind, and he nearly leaped out of his seat. His nerves were shot. A blonde boy of about 9 or 10, in a striped shirt and baseball cap, emerged angrily from the back of...the RV? He was driving an RV. An old RV, with wood paneling. "What's going on up here?" the agitated boy asked, "I thought you said you could drive?"

"I did?" Sam questioned, then stuttered, "I-I mean, I did. I can. Drive."

"You can be such a dillweed sometimes!" the boy tutted and smacked him with a map, flopping down into the passenger's side.

Who was this, his son? Who let a kid talk to them like that? The boy seemed very much in charge. Sam was starting to feel like he'd leaped into an extremely dysfunctional relationship.

"Sorry," Sam muttered sheepishly, ducking his head. He eyed the desert terrain outside. "There was, uh…a tumbleweed."

Map unravelled on his lap, the boy seemed to accept this explanation without question. He traced a path with his finger. "Let's see, there's a town about 10 miles down the road where we can eat something…and that leaves 2,456 miles to the Grand Canyon!" He looked up with a big, buck-toothed grin, hitting Sam playfully with his hat.

Oh _boy_. _Only_ 2,456 miles. Sam forced a smile and nodded.

"What're you waiting for, Buck?" the boy asked, eyes motioning toward the road, "You wanna get caught? The fuzz spots us driving around and we're dead!"

"The police?" Sam translated with concern.

The kid looked at him like he was crazy. "Just drive, dummy!"

With a slight rise in urgency, Sam put the RV back into gear and started down the road. Just who had he leaped into this time? A criminal? Was he on the run? Did he kidnap this child? He couldn't be his son; he'd called him by his first name. Buck? Careful to avoid any more near accidents, he stole a glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

He was just a kid himself. No more than a few years older than the boy next to him, with shaggy blonde hair and similarly long teeth, and _definitely_ not old enough to be driving.

Sam gulped.

Step 1 to leaping without a net: find out who he was. His name was Buck, Buck what to be determined, and a 12-year-old didn't keep a wallet handy. He had yet to find a name for his companion either, or determine what their relationship was. Brother maybe? They looked similar enough. That led to step 2: when. While sidling into a crummy diner, Sam peered inconspicuously at someone's newspaper. The date read July 20, 1975, which confirmed his suspicions after viewing patrons' outfits and listening to the music over the speakers. Which brought him to step 3: why. That was always, always the trickiest one. But he was willing to bet this road trip had something to do with his mission.

Two little boys had no business driving over 2,000 miles alone. Whoever Buck and this other child were, they were in trouble. Someone had to be looking for them, and if Sam was here…they were probably never found.

Picking noncommittally at his potatoes with his fork, Sam tried to bring it up casually into conversation. He shrugged and grinned playfully. "So, remind me why we're going to the Grand Canyon again?"

"You're hilarious," the kid said sarcastically, dipping his head down. He stuffed his sandwich into his face.

"What I mean is…I'm not quite sure we're ready to go to the Grand Canyon alone. Maybe we should go back home?" The boy raised a confused eyebrow as he chewed. Sam waited for a response.

The kid swallowed, and a dark shadow fell over him. "You know what Dad would do. Why would you even say that?" Then, leaning onto the table, "Hey, are you chickening out?"

So they were brothers, and there was some problem at home. Maybe they'd had a fight with their father and run away? Children often acted impulsively. As Sam was thinking of some way to dig deeper, they were interrupted by a man stopping at the table and they froze. Food hung forgotten off of their utensils.

It was a policeman, a heavyset black man with a beard. With a polite tip of his hat, he greeted them, "Hi there, boys."

Sam was the first to speak. "Hello, officer." Should he say anything? It might be that he could help them get back home.

"Enjoying your lunch?"

Joey nodded and ducked his head. Sam kept quiet for now.

"My name's Greg. What's yours?"

"J-Joey…" the boy answered nervously. At last, a name.

The officer looked toward Sam, and he realized he was waiting for him. "Buck," he quickly provided.

"Well, Joey and Buck, where are your parents? I noticed you've been sitting alone for a while."

Joey and Sam exchanged a look. Sam debated again whether he should tell the officer anything, but just as he opened his mouth, his new brother responded. "They're in the restroom, sir," he said, clapping his belly with a pained expression, "Stomach problems. They might be in there a while." Receiving a worried stare from Sam, he kicked him under the table. He held back a yelp before nodding affirmatively toward the officer.

The policeman peered at them suspiciously, carefully considering what they'd told him. The two boys didn't twitch. After what seemed like eternity, he smiled politely and nodded. "Alright. You two take care now, ya hear?" They nodded a bit too eagerly, and he left the restaurant.

Sam was developing stomach problems of his own. As was usual for him during leaps as of late, guilt and uncertainty nagged at him like a persistent fly buzzing around his head. He couldn't help but think he'd missed a window of opportunity by going with Joey's lie. So far, he hadn't changed anything on this leap, as far as he could tell. But how could he be certain?

Joey appeared to have a bit of a temper, which probably contributed in some way to their leaving home. Sam imagined some argument involving homework or strict rules, and a stubborn parent to butt heads with. As a child, he didn't always see eye to eye with his father either. At the same time, Joey acted as if he was already a grown up, like he knew everything, and Sam wondered why he'd had to grow up so fast. There must be a story there. Whatever the case was, if he could convince Joey to go home, he could try to resolve their issues. Then he'd leap into a new situation to solve. And then another. And another. And another…until god knows when.

They were low on money already, and definitely didn't have enough to get them 2,456 miles. After they paid their bill and made their way out of the restaurant, Sam hoped home was a bit closer. Next to a trash receptacle, he spied a Coke bottle thrown carelessly to the ground.

 _"Yuck! It's bad enough they aren't recycling, but they can't even throw that away? Some people. Do you realize it takes a glass bottle a_ million _years to decompose, Sam?"_

He could hear it in Al's voice like he was there. With the wistful ghost of a grin, he picked up the bottle and disposed of it best he could. _Sorry about the recycling, Al,_ he thought. He'd had a lot of imaginary conversations lately. Sometimes it helped him to consider how to go about solving the leap. Other times, it was to relieve the racing of his heart caused by waking up, terrified that he'd start to forget those he loved if he didn't remind himself.

A hard grip around his arm startled him, bringing him back to reality. He whipped around to see an angry man with stern eyebrows and a beer gut staring at him. "Bet you thought I wouldn't find you, huh? You two are in so much trouble."

Joey looked like a deer in headlights at first, but then he looked furious again. "Leave us alone, Rick!"

Rick? "That's Dad to you, mister," Rick corrected him. So this was their father? He wasn't what Sam had pictured. He took Joey by the arm also. "And I'm not going to take any more lip from you! Now let's sit down!"

"Ugh! Let go!" Joey struggled as their father led them toward a nearby bench, but he kept them securely in his grasp. Sam went along with him, but his arm was being squeezed uncomfortably tight.

Rick forcefully sat them down on the bench, and they rubbed their arms. He definitely wasn't a gentle man, but Sam supposed he couldn't blame him. They _had_ stolen his RV, presumably his money, and taken off for Arizona. If it were his own children, Sam would be furious. Hmm. Did he have kids? It was best not to think about it. At least now they were with an adult. He hung his head and felt ashamed, as if he had been caught by his own father, possibly a byproduct of leaping into Buck.

Rick pointed a scolding finger at them. "I've searched high and low for you two. You're in a world of trouble."

There was something…disconcerting about him. A building sense of uneasiness snaked its way through Sam, something he couldn't pinpoint.

"You shouldn't have bothered," Joey spat heatedly, "You never cared about us before, so why start now?"

Without skipping a beat, Rick smacked him hard across the face. Joey cowered in terror, and Sam straightened up in shock.

"Don't you start, you little brat!"

"Hey!" Sam said with furious alarm, "Don't hit him like that!"

Rick turned his rage toward Sam now. He raised his hand threateningly. "You want to be taught a lesson too, Buck?"

Not one to bow down to threats by violent losers, and certainly too drained for patience with them now, Sam grabbed his arm as a challenge. He stared daggers at him, his mouth a hard line. "Don't you touch these kids ever again," he warned in a low voice.

It was an odd sentence for Buck to say, but Joey was too frightened and Rick was too angry. Now Sam understood why Joey didn't want to go back, and why returning home wasn't an option. No one should treat anyone like that, much less their children.

But Sam's orders weren't much of a deterrent. Rick yanked his arm away and hit him square in the eye. While he was momentarily stunned, Joey lunged at Rick. "You son of a bitch!"

"Knock it off!" Rick yelled as they began to grapple. Joey was no match for the larger, more vicious man, and he was being shaken around like a rag doll. Instantly, Sam was between the two of them. Pushing Rick forcefully away, he took Joey by the hand and bolted.

He'd figure out where later. For now, it was just away from this awful, pathetic man. Sam couldn't believe his actions. It was unfathomable that a father could be so cruel to his children.

Sam was quick, but his speed was significantly slowed down by towing Joey around. Behind them, he could hear Rick's curses getting closer and closer. Sam weighed his options. Should he stop and fight? Joey would question how his brother could overpower their father. Not to mention, they would attract more unwanted attention from the police. But then again, he might not have a choice. After knowing their father for just a minute, he already believed he could seriously injure them…or worse.

"GET BACK HERE! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

Sam was just making up his mind to turn around and fight when suddenly, a motorcycle was skidding to a stop in front of them. What the-? Dirt spit into their faces and he nearly fell over as he jolted to a stop, Joey colliding into the back of him.

The helmeted rider jerked his head behind him. "Hop on."

Sam and Joey glanced behind them at their father closing in. Within a fraction of a second, there was a simultaneous agreement that this stranger was a safer alternative. Joey placed himself on the back of the seat and hitched his arms around the stranger's waist.

Which left Sam with the side car. With an embarrassed sigh, he jumped inside. His butt was barely in the seat before the bike thrust forward, his head flew back, and he held on for dear life.

"Oh booooyyyyyy!"

Once Rick was left safely in the dust, the motorcycle came to a stop. Joey hopped off of the bike immediately, and a slower Sam groaned and peeled his long limbs out of the tiny side car. It wasn't the smoothest ride he'd ever taken—his backside was sore from hitting every single bump along the way—but he was grateful for the quick escape.

Stranger and stranger. Sam hadn't seen himself being saved by a mysterious motorcyclist.

Their rescuer removed his helmet, revealing a head of red curls. He was older than them, but not by much. Around 17, if Sam could hazard a guess. He still had acne dotted around his freckles, and a pair of sideburns framed a long face with a dimpled chin. It was an odd face, and not what Sam had imagined when they first met. It was obvious he'd been driving some distance; dirt dusted his leather jacket and smudged his face where his helmet had left his skin exposed. "You kids alright?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, "Thanks to you. You really saved us back there."

The motorcyclist silently waved the thanks away.

"Your bike is so cool!" Joey said with awe, leaning sideways to eye the machine, "Can you teach me how to drive it?" Well, he bounced back quickly, thank god. It was nice to see him distracted. He seemed immediately enamored with this heroic stranger.

"Uh, maybe in a few years, kid," the teen chuckled a bit uncomfortably. He leaned onto the handlebars of his bike. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Joey Hudson," Joey answered quickly. He jabbed his thumb at Sam. "This is my brother Buck."

"Nice to meet you two. My name's Davey Malone. Is there somewhere I can take you guys?"

They'd parked the RV in a lot a block down from the diner, so that's where Davey drove them. Sam noticed how cautious he was, eyeing the passerby protectively to make sure none of them were the man he'd seen chasing the boys. It might've passed by Joey, who was simply enjoying the ride, but it didn't escape a thankful Sam. At least someone else was looking out for these kids. Perhaps he had a little brother of his own.

When they pulled to a stop, Joey's eyes widened and he pulled Davey and Sam behind a corner. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Officer Greg!" Joey whispered in distress, smacking his hand over his eyes. Sam peered around the corner carefully, and sure enough, the policeman from the diner was filling out a ticket for another car parked in the lot. He shut his eyes and groaned too.

"You know him?" Davey asked.

"We, um, had sort of a run in with him at the diner…" Sam explained nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, "If he sees us without our parents again, he's going to be suspicious."

"You mean you two are driving alone?" Davey asked, narrowing one eye suspiciously at Sam, "How old are you?"

Before Sam could stumble for an answer, Joey impatiently asked, "You want us to go back to our dad?"

Davey frowned. "You mean that guy back there was…?" He trailed off as he put things together, and his face softened sympathetically. "Aw jeez…"

Then, Sam was struck with an idea. He smirked and rubbed his chin. "We wouldn't get in trouble if, say…our big brother was with us."

Davey blinked, then raised up his palms and backed up. "Oh no no no no, don't get me involved with this any more than I already am! I've got enough problems!"

It was too late for him. Sam and Joey aimed their saddest puppy dog looks at him, and he was done for.

"Afternoon," Officer Greg greeted affably as the three of them approached, Davey leading his bike alongside them. Then he squinted dubiously at Sam and Joey. "Hey, didn't I see the two of you at Lindy's back there?"

"Yes, sir," Sam answered.

"I thought so. How're your parents feeling? Still having stomach problems?"

"Uh, yes, officer," Davey quickly cut in, "In fact, they decided to rest awhile until they felt better, so they told us to go ahead and they'd meet us at the hotel."

The officer gave a confused frown. "And, um, you are…?"

"Davey M—Hudson, sir. I'm their older brother." Davey gave a big, forced smile that didn't fit his face. Sam and Joey copied him on either side.

An interminable pause. Sam wondered nervously if they'd blown it.

But good old Officer Greg smiled and tipped his hat. "Alright then. I hope your folks feel better."

Two boys and one displaced quantum physicist simultaneously deflated with relief as he left. That worked better than Sam could've hoped. Thank god for small towns. As Davey was rolling his bike toward the back to hitch it, Sam leaned in and whispered, "Thanks. I owe you one."

"The next state," Davey said sternly, waving his hand with finality, "That's as far as I can get you, kid. After that, you two are on your own."

He ventured further ahead, and Sam smiled knowingly. Surprising, those were few and far between for him these days.

Sam liked Davey. To look at him you wouldn't find him particularly intriguing, but there was something cool and detached about how he acted. He seemed experienced beyond his years. Perhaps it was because when he looked at Sam he saw a 12-year-old boy, making him the responsible adult in the situation, but he seemed to genuinely care about their well-being in a paternal way.

Joey loved him. He sat up front and incessantly asked questions, like where'd he get his jacket and what did the patches mean, mostly receiving brief, noncommittal answers. To him Davey was a rebel, a hero, an (almost) grownup who hadn't failed him. He needed someone to look up to where his father had failed, and this mysterious motorcyclist had been just the person he was looking for. As Sam watched Joey's eyes light up as he inspected Davey's motorcycle-shaped keychain, he thought of how great it was to see him acting like a kid for once.

"Where'd you get your bike? Did you steal it? Where are you from? Is that where you got this keychain?"

Davey licked his lips, flickering his eyes briefly from the road and shifting awkwardly at the barrage of questions. Gently taking the keychain back and stuffing it into his pocket, he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So where are you two going anyway?"

"The Grand Canyon," Joey beamed.

Another shift of the eyes. "The Grand Canyon? That's kinda far, don't you think?"

"I know," Joey said, "But it's important."

Davey raised an eyebrow, and Sam pretended he knew exactly what he was talking about, casually leaning in and listening for the answer himself. Standing up to get to it, Joey reached behind his sun visor and pulled out a postcard. It was worn and slightly faded, creasing in the middle of the picture on the back: the Grand Canyon.

"This was our mom's," Joey explained to Davey, "It's from when she was a kid. She kept it until she…well, the doctor said it was a heart condition." He paused as he was briefly brought back to a painful memory, and Sam's heart broke. Their mother had died. It was hard to pretend like this didn't freshly affect him. Gosh, that must've been tough. No wonder Joey and Buck had had to grow up fast.

Joey returned to the postcard. "Anyway, I'll read it to you: 'Dear Franny. You once told me this was the greatest place on earth. It's hard to believe such a vast and beautiful landscape was once our back yard. I know how sad you were to leave it, so I'm giving you this to remember us. Please don't be a stranger. We love you. –Lonnie.'"

Scratching his ear nonchalantly, Sam stealth-read the address on the front; the postcard was sent to a Francine Taylor, which must've been her maiden name. He wondered who Lonnie was. Her lover? No, he mentioned 'we,' as in plural. A relative?

Joey set the card down and peered at Davey intently. "That was the last place our mom was truly happy. So you see, we've gotta go there." He said it with such earnestness, Sam could almost believe the Grand Canyon really was some magic answer to their problems.

Now Sam and Davey both studied Joey with a new, compassionate understanding. Suddenly he seemed much older, a little more world-weary, and Sam wondered just how he was going to help him. He hoped he could.

Night fell and pretty soon Joey was passed out on the tiny bed in the back. Sam watched him pensively for a few minutes, debating what he should do for this leap.

 _What do you think, Al? What does Ziggy say I'm here for?_

He had no guarantees anymore. Either he correctly guessed the right course of action, or took the wrong fork in the road and risked not leaping at all. All he could do was trust his gut instinct, and that was telling him he needed to get these kids to the Grand Canyon.

He slipped into the bathroom and slid the thin door shut, inspecting Buck's reflection. A bruise had started to form underneath his eye where his father had struck him. This was no life for two little boys. It wasn't fair that their childhood had been stripped away and replaced with grief and fear. They needed someone to take care of them, to love them, just like they deserved. The world was a scary place, and Sam was being reminded of that more and more every day. He couldn't mess this one up.

But he was so exhausted. Staring closely at the reflection, he imagined the face behind Buck, lined and weary. He wished he had answers, but his journey seemed hopeless when he felt so lost. He folded his hands and bowed his head. It was a shot in the dark, but he so badly required guidance.

 _If you're out there,_ he prayed to Whoever or Whatever was listening, _please let me do the best thing for these children. I've always tried to do right by you, but I'm so tired of carrying this by myself. I...I need some help. So if by some chance you're listening, send me a sign. Anything. Just something so I know I'm not doing this alone._

"Hey kid, you okay in there?"

Then again, he was reminded there were some people who cared in the world, even if it wasn't who he expected.

He looked up and smirked. _Thanks._

The door slid carefully open and Sam peeked his head out to address Davey in front. "I'm fine. You need a break from driving?"

"You kiddin' me? I'm not letting you drive this thing while I'm in here. Don't even know how you reach the pedals."

Sam lowered his head and hid a grin. If only he knew. He didn't feel like sleeping, so he made his way over and eased himself into the passenger's seat. As he was sitting down, he realized they'd spent the entire day with Davey and knew nothing about him but his name and mode of transportation. Sam was intrigued by his seeming unwillingness to involve himself with other people, but at the same time put himself on the line for two strangers.

"So you haven't told us your story."

The teen glanced over at him questioningly. "What story?"

"I don't know, anything." Sam shrugged. "Where are you from?"

Again, Davey seemed strangely evasive. He frowned exaggeratedly and lifted a single shoulder. "Y'know, lots of places."

"Like where?" Sam politely insisted.

"Uh, listen, kid," Davey shifted in his seat and wiped his nose, "I don't like to talk about myself, okay? Let's leave it at that. 'Sides, you got a lot more to worry about than where I'm from. You just get some sleep, huh?" He nodded toward the back, and the conversation was over as quickly as it began.

Davey was running from something, Sam could tell. What, he didn't know yet, but he hoped it didn't catch up to him. There was something familiar he saw in him, maybe the fact he seemed to be searching for answers too.

Sam yawned. Maybe he wanted some rest after all.

No sooner had the RV pulled to a stop than the door was blasting open and Joey was skipping outside to the nearest restroom. The RV's tiny bathroom was functional, but he'd take any other option when he could get it.

With the slower speed of an adult who'd spent the night on an RV couch, Sam came lumbering out shortly after, stretching his aching limbs in the morning sun. They'd made it to the next state, but all of the terrain had started to blend together. Patches of brown, dry grass stretched into the distance from the empty rest stop.

With a groan, Davey made his way out of the RV as well. He stared distastefully up at the sun before rounding toward the back of the vehicle to unhitch his bike. Once he had it loose, he rubbed the back of his neck, casting an almost regretful glance toward Sam. "Well, I guess this is where we part ways."

"I guess so," Sam said with some dissatisfaction. His business with Davey felt unfinished, but at the same time he had a responsibility to Joey. They were parting all too soon.

A pause. Davey stared at the handlebars in his hands, then back at Sam. "I, uh…I hope everything works out for you two."

"Thanks," Sam said sincerely and thought the same. He wished there were some way to help Davey, if only he knew what the problem was. He extended his hand. Tentatively, Davey accepted it.

And electricity sparked through them. The two of them were reshaped, and they both stared in shock.

Sam was no longer Buck, and Davey was no longer Davey, but a scruffy older man dressed in Davey's clothes and eyes bugging out wildly. But not just any man. The most important person in Sam's life, and who he never thought he'd see again.

It was Al.

Sam's expression mirrored his. He gasped his name disbelievingly. "Al?"

And Al screamed and bolted, letting the bike fall and leaving Sam in bewilderment.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a good five seconds before Sam could knock himself out of his state of discombobulation and chase after his friend. Was Al really here? How did he find him? And why was he running? Sam had no earthly idea how to react at this point; his emotions were a conflict of elation and confusion. Al had gotten a good head start, but the younger man was quick to catch up.

"Hey!" Sam called after him, "Wait up! Where are you going?"

Al skidded to a stop and spun around. "How did you do that?!" he gasped.

"Do what?" Sam asked, puzzled.

"That—That thing where you changed!" Al squeaked. Frantically, he motioned up and down at him. "You were a kid, a-a-and now you're not!"

Now Sam was completely lost. He tilted his head as he tried to figure him out. "Al, what're you talking about?" Did he hit his head or something? And why was he acting so jumpy?

At the sound of his name, Al suddenly straightened up with astonishment. "You called me Al." He leaned in closer, squinting warily at Sam, and pointed at himself. "Can you—Can you see me? I mean, really me?"

Why was Al acting like this was new? They'd been on leaps together before. Frowning, Sam answered, "Of course I can. We touched, remember? If you can see me, I can see you." He took a concerned step toward him, but Al took a puzzling step back in response.

A beat.

His friend scrutinized him apprehensively for a moment. Then, with a tremble of fear in his voice, he asked, "What are you?"

There wasn't a hint of humor to his question, not a single sign to indicate he was anything but serious. And that's when it hit Sam.

Al was terrified because he didn't remember him.

Oh boy, he didn't seem to remember much of anything. Not only was he frightened, he was frightened of _him_.

For a short time, Sam wasn't sure what to say.

"You don't know who I am?" he finally asked.

"Should I?"

It made his stomach clench to see such a look of unrecognition from his best friend. Sam hoped he was wrong and this was some misunderstanding. "It's me. Sam."

" _You're_ Sam?" Al asked. Surprisingly, something registered there, causing Sam's spirits to rise. Perhaps Al hadn't swiss-cheesed as much as he'd initially thought.

Sam nodded fervently, hoping this had unlocked more of his memories. "Yeah. Do you remember now?"

"No, I…" Al trailed off, Sam shrunk a little, and the older man furrowed his brows as he tried to grasp at scattered memories and piece them together. It was a frustrating task. He shook his head. "All I remember is waking up, and knowing my name is Al, and—and thinking I needed to find Sam," he said, perplexed. Once again, he was staring at Sam like he was some kind of alien.

This was even worse than he'd thought. Sam scratched his head, stunned, as he attempted to make sense of this. "Boy, you're really swiss-cheesed. The only time I was ever that bad was after my first…" He stopped. His jaw went slack as the realization dawned on him, and he stared incredulously at the fearful man before him. "Al. You used the Accelerator to find me…didn't you?"

Oh god. He'd leaped after him. Despite Sam's best efforts, Al had stubbornly decided to blindly leap back in time anyway. What was he thinking?! He could've gotten himself killed! It was astronomically lucky that he'd found him. Unless…GTFW had planned it that way. Sam never knew what to expect when it came to whatever powers that be.

"The Accelerator?" Al repeated with bewilderment, "What's that? And what does cheese have to do with it?!"

"You really don't remember anything?" Forgetting his previous attempt and trying to get closer, Sam was reminded where they stood when Al once again kept his distance. But, notably, not as far. That was something at least. He wanted answers, scared as he was. "Not even leaping?"

"Leaping?" Al sighed with exasperation. He stamped his foot and cocked his head. "Do you ever speak English, kid?" This time, emboldened by his mounting frustration, he was the one to inch closer. "Look, if you have answers, I'd love to hear 'em. Why does everything look like 1975? And who is Davey Malone, and why does everyone think I'm him but you? And—"

Sam's assuaging palms held off further questions so he could answer. Boy, this was gonna take a while. "Davey is the person you leaped into," he explained calmly, "And everything looks like 1975 because it _is_ 1975."

"But it's _not_ 1975!" Al yelled insistently, flapping his arms, "It's—well, I don't remember the year exactly, but I know it's not 1975! And you still haven't told me what leaping is!" The number of questions were mounting up, as well as his befuddlement. He placed an impatient hand on his hip and waited for a response.

Realizing this was going to be a tough one to explain, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and licked his lips. He thought back to his first leap and how ludicrous it all sounded; he didn't want to believe it were it not the only thing that made sense. But Al was more stubborn than he was, and he might be more difficult to convince. Considering his words carefully, he finally addressed him. "Your name is Al Calavicci. And you and I…created a time travel project, called Quantum Leap."

Predictably, Al's deadpan eyelids lowered. "Time travel."

"Yes, time travel," Sam said, the distance between them slowly shrinking, "And seven years ago, I _leaped_ back in time. I became someone else, and once I put right something that went wrong in their life, I leaped into the next person. I became Tom Stratton, and now I'm Buck Hudson. And now you're Davey Malone. Get it?"

Al was shaking his head before he'd even finished. "No way, nu-uh. That's crazy talk," he half-chuckled, shrinking away again, "What is this, some sort of Navy experiment?" He paused, knitted his brows. "Wait a minute. Am I in the Navy?"

"Yes!" Sam answered, excited, "You're an admiral!"

"That has to be it, a Navy experiment…" mumbled Al, eyes sweeping the ground, "Yeah, they're messing with our minds, seeing how we do under pressure… Time travel's a little _abstract_ , but…"

"Al," Sam said firmly, "Look around you. How could the Navy possibly control all of these variables? And you saw for yourself, I looked like a 12-year-old but now I don't. How do you explain that?" Al was quiet, uncertain. "It's because we're both leapers! Something happens when—when two leapers touch; it shorts out the aura, I think, I'm not quite sure. But that's how we can see each other!"

Al didn't want to believe was he was saying; he continued to search the ground for answers. But something behind his eyes told Sam that some of this was familiar, even if vaguely. And, as swiss cheesing usually worked, the more it was explained, the more was coming back.

Trepidatiously, Al looked up. "Suppose…suppose I did believe you. _Not that I do,_ " he added emphatically, "But if I did… How, uh, how come I don't remember anything?"

He believed him. Sam bit back a smile. "Because leaping causes partial amnesia. It'll come back to you." He scratched his head thoughtfully. "I guess the first leap is always the worst. It must be some effect from the Accelerator."

It didn't all fit together for Al, not by a long shot, but to his credit, he was trying hard to understand. He cleared his throat. "And I used this, uh…Accelerator, to find you?"

"I think you did."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

Serious now, Sam frowned, beset with guilt. He pursed his lips. "Because I left."

This was his fault. Damn it, why hadn't Al listened to his letter? Sometimes he hated him.

Al took a moment to absorb all this. He rubbed the side of his face. "You must be really important to me then," he guessed.

"You're my best friend, Al." Sam's heart ached. How could he have gotten them into this mess? He wished he could just hold him, tell him how sorry he was. But an invisible force wedged itself between them. They were strangers now.

All this time, how lonely he was. How often he'd thought of what he'd given up and been swallowed by hollow devastation, a yearning for someone to confide in and having no one. And now his anchor had returned, only it wasn't him at all.

Al stared at the ground for a long time and rubbed his head nervously. Then, inevitably, he asked the one question Sam didn't want to hear. "Well, uh…how do we get back home?" A pause. He looked up. His so-called best friend was watching him with sorrowful eyes.

More than anything, he wanted to be able to give him a better answer.

"We can't," Sam told him quietly. He furrowed his brows. "I mean…I don't know how."

For an unbearable moment, nothing. Al tried to size him up, decipher whether this was some cruel joke. Some Navy test. But of course, Sam was telling the truth, and part of Al knew that too. Much as they hated it, they were both stuck in time now. There _was_ no going home.

But Al shook his head adamantly, guarding himself again. "No. You're lying."

"Al, I—"

"You just keep your distance, pal," Al ordered firmly, walking away. He picked up his fallen bike. "I don't know who you really are, but I know time travel doesn't exist. So whatever you're trying to do to me, I'm not playing along. So you keep away!"

Desperately, Sam tried to get closer again. "Please understand—"

"I said stay away!" Al shouted, now astride the bike. With that command, he drove off.

"Al! AL!"

Arms dropping to his side, Sam stopped and watched him disappear down the road. Once again he thought back to how _he_ felt after his first leap, when a strange man who no one else saw told him he'd traveled back in time. He thought he'd died and entered some strange, surreal afterlife. It was a lot to take in all at once, too much. Al needed time to process this.

Sam hadn't exactly processed everything either.

Al…Calavicci, was it? If Sam Whoever was telling the truth. Funny, he hadn't asked the kid what his last name was. But then again, he could lie about that too. Because, face it, there's no _way_ the rest of the crap he was spouting had any legs to stand on.

Time travel. _Time travel._ It was loony toons. Bonkers! Bananas with a capital B! People didn't travel in time to fix history and turn into other people. People didn't travel in time, period! Nor did they turn into other people, now that he thought about it.

And yet.

His first memory was waking up in a hotel room, terrified. He knew his name was Al and he needed to find Sam, but Al or Sam Who, Why, or Where eluded him. Nothing before that. Except…something about a blue light? Strange. Oh, and he remembered being mad at some broad with a name that started with a Z…Zoey? No…hell, what other girl names started with a Z? Ziggy, that was it! Jeez, what the hell kind of name was Ziggy anyway?

The hotel, right. Everything seemed inexplicably dated. The décor, the clothes he'd located near the bed, it was all 70s. He loved the 70s…he thought. Because it reminded him of his younger days. As in, the past. He was certain. Something about space and a purse? Whatever that meant. Everything outside was the same. If it all didn't feel so real, he'd swear he was in a dream.

He'd found Davey Malone's wallet and other belongings in his hotel room, but no Davey Malone. He figured he must have stolen them, which made it lucky that the teen's clothes fit him perfectly for some reason. Was he a thief? A fugitive on run? That didn't feel right.

But when he went to check out, ask around, figure out just what was happening…everyone was treating him like he was a kid. Now he might not have known jack from shit about himself at this point, but he knew his teen years were a long ways away by now. And the wrinkles on his hands told him there would be no mistaking his age. And yet somehow…no one else seemed to know that but him.

The first time he'd looked into a mirror, he'd nearly had a heart attack. Because there was Davey, staring right back at him! Asking about it only earned him strange looks, and he didn't want to end up in a straitjacket. Having no idea what to do in this situation, he found himself wandering aimlessly, the only one to know who he really was and yet know nothing at the same time. He thought he'd lost his mind.

Maybe he had. The jury was still out.

Al leaned against the storefront, chewing his lip and replaying the events since in his head. He hadn't meant to get involved, he just couldn't stand to see those boys being abused. No kid deserved that. Something….vaguely familiar about it, made him feel strongly that kids needed protection, because that's what he'd wanted. Someone, someone who really cared, to step in and say something. After he was sure they were okay, he'd continue trying to figure out who he was and where Sam Whoever had gone to.

But he didn't know one of those kids he saved would turn out to be…something else.

Something else like him. Didn't he look a little different on the outside too? And he didn't _think_ he was a bad guy.

"Hey, kid. Go on and loiter somewhere else." It was the manager, who disconcertingly grabbed Al by the elbow and led him away from the storefront.

Very much taking offense, Al yanked himself away. "I'm _not_ a kid!" This cosmic joke was gettin' real old, real fast.

"Don't make me call the police," the manager warned, talking down to him as if he had an exceptionally low IQ, "Now get on out of here."

Great. He couldn't even sit outside without someone thinking he was a little punk. Ruffled, Al sighed and rolled his shoulders. "Alright. I'm gone." It wasn't worth the fight. With a narrowed glare at the manager, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and wandered down the road.

 _I want you to know you can let go. You're an exceptional human being, and you deserve to be happy. Go retire in Vegas. Marry Tina. Live your life. I'll be okay. You will be too._

 _Thank you for achieving the impossible dream with me, Sancho._

 _-Sam_

Not again. Al was not going to let him slip through his fingers. He put on a strange white suit and entered some sort of chamber. A blue light engulfed him, and he felt…electric, weightless, everywhere.

Al straightened up in shock. He actually remembered some of it. God, could the putz be right?

He remembered the sinking feeling as he was reading that letter, an oddly familiar sensation that this had happened before. Seven years ago? And his determination that he wasn't going to let it happen again. That Sam was going to be the death of him one of these days.

He squinted hard. It was still…fuzzy around the edges, like he'd drank the memories away. He remembered…he was lonely, lonelier than he'd been in a long time. He felt terrified for the kid, but at the same time he felt like kicking his butt. Failure wrenched its claws around him; he'd felt responsible for bringing him home. But Sam had betrayed him, just a little bit. Somehow.

Sam Beckett. That was his name.

Surprising as it was, two pre-pubescent boys were not the best at managing a budget, and so they'd already run out of money. Now Sam found himself in the back of a seedy diner in the middle of nowhere washing dishes for lunch. He hadn't figured out what they would do after that, but he'd get to it when he got to it. Soap suds slid over his fingers as the water washed them away, only to be replaced as he dunked his hands in to grab another plate. His body was on autopilot; his mind another place entirely.

He hadn't wanted anyone to keep hanging on. Once it became clear to him that he wasn't going to be retrieved, it felt cruel to keep the people he loved waiting for something that wasn't going to happen. And, above all, he wanted them to be happy. It was much better to hurt them, only temporarily, so they could properly move on. All of this misery had been the fruit of _his_ dream, after all, and he refused to keep dragging everyone else down with him. Hell, his revelation was a blessing really. He was lucky to have the opportunity for a proper goodbye, which was more than most people got.

Except, it wasn't goodbye now. Al was here. Sam knew he would be the last holdout in accepting he was gone, but he didn't think he would be so stupid as to leap after him. It was astounding. Actually…it made him angry. Al never listened to him! But he wasn't half as furious with Al as he was with himself, because actually…he selfishly wanted to have him here all along.

Should he go look for him? Or wait until he came around?

Sam glanced beside him, and he was surprised to see Joey near tears. He'd nearly forgotten him. With that knock back to the present, he was reminded that there was a reason he had been sent to 1975. "Are you okay, Joey?"

Joey sniffed and wiped his eyes, continuing with his work. "Yeah. I was just thinking about Mom again."

"You miss her, don't you?"

Joey stopped. He leaned against the sink, and everything seemed to have caught up with him. "No one's taking care of us," he said heatedly, "Why did she have to leave us behind?"

Sam frowned. "She didn't choose to go, you know."

"Sometimes I'm not so sure. Sometimes...it seems like she left because it was easier."

When suffering such a heavy loss, Sam reminded himself, often finding someone to blame is a coping mechanism. Joey was only doing what was natural, even if it didn't make sense, even if it meant blaming his mother for dying. With that in mind, Sam asked softly, "Don't you think if she had any choice in it she'd stay?"

But Joey shook his head, his mouth a hard line. "If you really love someone, you hang on."

Guilt once again crept up his spine. It was hard not to compare. Did he do the right thing? Or did he simply not love Donna enough to stay? Was he really protecting the people he loved, or was it just easier?

Sam furrowed his brows and looked up at his temporary brother. "Joey...what do you expect to find out there?"

A thoughtful pause. "I don't know, but Mom found it. And if it made her happy…that seems like something worth searching for, doesn't it?"

There could be worse things to chase after than happiness.

Sam fiddled his hands together nervously and glanced around him. He didn't feel right about this, but, he reasoned with himself, he had no other choice. If they were going to make it to the Grand Canyon, they were going to need gas, and there weren't a lot of ways for Buck or Joey to make money. And well, he _was_ putting right history here, so he figured that probably counted for something.

That's how he found himself on a farm, slinking through a herd of sheep, sneakers slurping through their droppings, in an attempt to grab a gas can unnoticed. He squished his way toward the house, where the can sat outside. So far so good.

His hand reached out—so did someone else's. Gasping, he faced an equally surprised Al.

"You again?" Al said with annoyance.

"Al."

"Listen, buddy, go get your own gas." Al snatched the can from Sam's hands.

Sam's initial excitement at seeing his friend was cut down by irritation. Al could be so rude. He yanked the can back. "I don't recall seeing your name on it."

"It's common courtesy. I got here first." Yank.

"Says who?" Another yank.

"Says me." Again.

The two of them fumed. Sam glanced toward the house, lowering his voice. "Look, this is silly. Why don't you come with us and you won't have to worry about gas?"

"Go with the loony and his kid brother?" Al chuckled, screwing up his mouth, "I don't think so."

Sam pursed his lips and sighed. "He's not my brother. I explained all of this to you. What do I need to say for you to believe me?"

"Something that sounds like reality!"

"HEY! Who's out there?!" an angry voice called from the house, the door beginning to open, and Sam and Al met each other's wide eyes.

"Cheese it!" Al yelled.

Sam shoved the can into Al's hands and they bolted into the woolly fray. The muck underneath them slowed them down more than they'd like, so they relied on the sheep for cover. Behind them, however, the sound of a shotgun being cocked pushed them into overdrive, once again running wildly like a couple of chickens with their heads cut off. What a perfect way to end the leap, Sam thought, being shot by some hick in the middle of nowhere.

In a state of panic, Al slipped and landed face first in the goo with a splat.

Seeing his friend falling behind, Sam backtracked and extended a helping hand. There was a moments hesitation; Al eyed him distrustingly. But he looked up at Sam, earnest and patient, and seemed to change his mind. Al accepted the offer and grabbed on.

They were touching again. Sam didn't know if Al realized the significance yet, but he never wanted to let go.

A single shot rang into the air, and they were in a hurry once more. Sam jerked Al to his feet and they both disappeared safely off the property, tails between their legs.

It wasn't Sam's proudest leaping moment, but they were free of bullet holes at least. Gasping for air and wiping his hands clean, he looked over at Al.

He wasn't taking this nearly as well as Sam. His face was caked in...er, mud, making the whites of his wild eyes the most prominent feature. Nearly hyperventilating, he shrieked, "What're we doing, Sam?! This is nuts!" He gestured broadly around him. "Is this what time travelers do?! Nearly get their butts shot off?! Huh?! God almighty!"

Then Sam cracked.

The ludicrous situation, his friend's goofy appearance, it was too absurd not to find humorous. He couldn't help it. Laughter burst from deep in his gut and he doubled over.

"It's not funny, Sam!"

"But it is! Al! You look ridiculous!"

Al was offended. "Hey, you don't exactly look like you're stepping onto the red carpet either!"

Oh, Sam's stomach was starting to ache, this was priceless. Giggling like a child, he spat out, "You're covered in sheep shit!" He was laughing so hard he had to balance on a tree trunk to keep himself from falling over.

"Stop laughing!" But despite his protests, even Al was starting to break. They _did_ look a bit silly. His arms flopped to his side and he huffed, a betraying grin creeping onto his face.

Wiping the tears from his face, Sam tried badly to pull himself together. "You, heh, you called us time travelers," he pointed out.

Al frowned. "I guess I did."

"So what, haha, what changed your mind?"

A beat. Rubbing the side of his mucky face, Al blew out a breath and replied, "Well, I, uh…well, what you said made me remember some things...about what happened…" His eyes flicked up toward Sam, who became more serious. "I'm not saying I remember everything," he made sure to pointedly add, "Just, uh…enough to get the gist."

"You believe me now?"

"I, uh…I suppose I do." Al lifted a single shoulder. " _But that doesn't mean_ I think we're supposed to correct some mistake in time or whatever the crap," he made sure to add, quickly waving the idea away, "If this is what leapers do, count me out." With a show of finality, he threw out his hands.

"I don't make the rules, Al," Sam shrugged nonchalantly, pointing skyward, " _He_ does. Or she."

"You're tellin' me God's in charge?" Al questioned with a heavy dose of skepticism, "Sure, some higher power is leaping us around in time. Well how about I refuse, how's that sound to the Big Cheese in the sky?"

Sam crossed his arms. "Before you even knew about this you helped me and Joey. You didn't have to."

"That was different. I thought two kids were in trouble."

"Two kids _are_ in trouble."

Averting his gaze, Al was suddenly less obstinate. His eyes shifted from Sam to the ground and back again. The reality of the situation began to sink in as Sam made his final, most important point.

"And we're the only ones who can help them."

The only thing that stood between these children and the cycle of abuse were two time-stranded friends. Al studied his muddy shoes thoughtfully. Softly, he finally asked, "So what do we do?"

Sam shrugged with his hands. "We go to the Grand Canyon."

Joey had been elated to find out that Davey was joining them a second time. There had been some awkwardness at first, but eventually Al had settled in to being their driver once more. Sam was glad to have Al around again too, and as soon as night fell and Joey was sleeping in the back, he was happy for the opportunity to talk freely about leaping matters.

He sat down in the passenger's seat. "You holding up okay?"

"Yeah. Luckily I didn't forget how to drive."

Sam chuckled, but his grin quickly subsided. There were important questions that needed to be asked. Running his thumb over his lip, he thought on it for a moment, "What _do_ you remember, Al?"

Al's eyes shifted over for a brief moment before flicking back to the road. "I remember you asked me to do something for you. I'm not sure what. But that was…that was the last time I ever saw you. And I leaped after you."

So he knew whose fault this was. Sam's guilt balled itself up in his stomach and sunk like a thousand pound stone. "I tried to stop you."

"Well obviously I'm a tough person to get through to."

Silence. Sam was too shamed to say anything, hanging his head low.

"So now that I found you…I'm not lettin' you get away again."

Sam's head whipped up in surprise at Al's determined statement, as if to say he had moved on from it and so should Sam. It meant the world to him to hear those words, more than he could adequately express. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he said happily, "I missed you, Al."

Al returned a soft grin. "I think I missed you too."

The weight that had been dragging Sam down suddenly seemed a lot lighter.

After a friendly pause, Al cleared his throat. "My memory's still fulla holes, though, like swiss cheese..." He slanted his mouth. "You mind fillin' in some of the blanks?"

Sam held back a laugh at the familiar expression. "I don't know," he said in puzzlement, pulling his chin down in thought. He hadn't been in this position before. "I mean, Project rules say you can't tell a leaper what they don't remember on their own. 'Course, I have no idea if that applies to other leapers..." Under his breath, he grumbled, "I've always hated that rule anyway..." But then a thought occurred to him and his eyes lit up. "But the rules don't exactly apply to us anymore. Do they?"

Al was lost now. "What rules?" he sighed, "Look, you're gonna have to take two steps back here. I said I remember _some_ things; I'm not gonna be passing any pop quizzes any time soon."

A slow grin was forming on Sam's face. "It means," he said, "that the Project isn't here anymore. I can tell you whatever I want."

And so Sam told Al whatever the hell he wanted to know.


	3. Chapter 3

Al chuckled and leaned back in his chair; Sam had taken a turn behind the wheel as long as they were careful not to be caught. It wasn't much longer until they reached their final destination. The night had flown by as they conversed, more and more coming back to Al with each question. It almost felt…normal again. "So lemme ask you somethin'," Al said quizzically, "How does a guy like you and a guy like me become best friends? No offense, but we're not exactly that much alike."

Sam coughed and tilted his head. "Well, uh, it all started when you were attacking a vending machine..."

" _What_?"

"Mmhm. With a hammer."

"Get outta town!" Al suddenly gasped as it trickled back into his mind. "Oh hell. Yeah! It ate my dime! I was drunk off my butt!" He laughed, and Sam joined him. "Gee, Sam, you gotta pick your friends better."

Shaking his head, Sam grinned. "Becoming your friend was the best decision I ever made."

Al suddenly became quiet, ducking his head. "Thanks, Sam," he said softly. Why did he always do that? Becoming uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat and changed the subject. "So look. Goin' to the Grand Canyon isn't exactly a plan. What happens after that?"

"That's a good question."

"I mean we can't take Joey and Buck back to their father, and their mother's dead. Where do they go?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? Doesn't your, uh, whatchamacallit—Observer tell you what to do?"

Sam gnawed on his lower lip before giving an answer. "You were my Observer before I…lost contact. No Project, no Observer."

A moment passed before Al could properly take all of it in. He knitted his brow and narrowed his eyes. "You mean all this time…you were on your own?" Wordless, Sam responded with a tight grin. Stroking his chin and stunned by this new revelation, Al studied his friend sadly. "I mean…how did you survive out here?"

"I almost didn't." Sam stared intently at the road now, hands gripped tightly on the wheel. His most recent leaps began to resurface in his mind, ghoulish images, and he tried not to let the pain show too much on his face. Al didn't need to know the details.

The silence was broken by a relieved sigh. "Well, it's a good thing you have a second noggin on this now, huh?" One look at Al's encouraging grin, and some of Sam's sadness ebbed away. How badly he'd needed him.

Between the two of them, they could certainly save two children, and, perhaps…Sam had been saved as well.

"Hey."

"Mmmmfff…"

"Joey, wake up."

"Five more minutes…"

"We're here."

Bleary-eyed, hair sticking straight up, Joey sat up in bed and stared at his brother. "Huh?"

"I said we're here," Sam repeated with a lopsided grin.

"We're here? WE'RE HERE!" Instantly awake and filled with elation, Joey tossed the blanket aside and rocketed out of bed. The excitement caught on with Sam and Al as he raced out of the trailer and into the desert.

"Hey wait for us!" Al called as he and Sam followed, "Don't get too far ahead!" Under his breath he added. "Jeez, where does he get the energy this early in the morning?"

"Come on, slowpokes!" Joey tossed over his shoulder as he jogged out of the parking lot.

The look on Joey's face as he gazed upon the Grand Canyon was that of indescribable joy. Golds and reds and burnt sienna were lit up beautifully by purple sky. He looked at the postcard again, just to compare, and it was exactly the same then as it was now and as it would be when Sam first saw it in 1986. It was a place frozen in time. But Joey saw something more important to him there.

He looked up at the purple sky, saying to Sam next to him, "Mom's up there. Can you feel her?"

Sam followed his gaze and smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah. I do." And he did.

"It's just like the postcard says."

And it was.

They stayed there all day. It seemed whatever it was Joey was looking for, he'd found it, and Sam knew he'd made the right call. That certainly didn't solve the leap, but he was positive it was part of it. They'd stay the night, and in the morning he and Al would brainstorm. For now, the three of them simply enjoyed the scenery, walked along the paths in the canyon. Sam liked being a big brother; he channeled some of what he remembered best about Tom. Al shared stories about New Mexico, the cleaned up ones he could remember anyway, which enthralled Joey, but made Sam a little sad.

Introspective, a little lost, Sam mulled everything over that night as he lay on the ground and gazed at the stars, arms propped behind his head. The radio played softly from the trailer behind him. _Que sera, sera..._

It was a dirt parking lot, hardly an ideal spot to be. Up above, however, was a gorgeous expanse of twinkling lights.

"Hey Joey. I think I saw a vending machine by that rest stop. Why don't you get yourself a candy bar?"

Sam glanced over to see Al slip a dollar bill to the young boy, whose eyes lit up as he snatched it away and took off. Sam tried to turn his face and hide his amusement, but Al caught it.

He hitched a confused eyebrow. "What, is that not enough for a candy bar?"

He was still thinking in 2002 prices. Chuckling, Sam shook his head. "No, that's enough for…a few candy bars at least."

Realizing his mistake, Al clapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh jeez, he's never gonna get to sleep tonight!" He shook his head. "One of these days, I'm gonna have to get used to this leaping thing."

There was that ball of guilt again.

The crunching of dirt underneath mud-dried shoes. Al slid onto his back next to him, groaning a bit as he tried to get comfortable. He frowned, shifted, then took off his jacket and placed it under his head. Finding that suitable, he folded his hands over his stomach and settled in. After a moment, he looked over at Sam.

He was quiet.

Al could read him; he always could. He wasn't much of a stranger now that many of the holes in his swiss-cheese brain had been filled. "Must've been lonely."

"I could've managed."

"Without me? C'mon."

Sam furrowed his brows in thought; he could feel his friend's eyes on him. Every star seemed to be alive tonight; they had names that weren't their names at all. He licked his lips. "Sometimes I feel like everyone I leap into…leaves a piece of themselves behind. A memory, an experience. Like they're part of me now. And when I remember that…I know that I'm never truly alone."

Al puckered his lips in thought and nodded. "Sounds like leaping isn't that bad."

"It has its benefits," Sam admitted with a small smile.

"You know what else?"

"Hm?"

"Now that I'm stuck in time, I don't have to worry about any of the baggage that came with my life. None of the daily grind bullshit, y'know?" Al shifted to get comfortable again, returning his gaze skyward. "Like, uhhh…for instance, I don't have to fill out any more stupid paperwork, or constantly shmooze for funding!"

"No bills." Sam added with amusement.

"No alimony! No Ziggy!" Al's eyes lit up and he chuckled. "Hell, I got it made! All of that is someone else's problem!"

"And you'll never be bored," Sam pointed out enthusiastically, "When you're leaping, you never know what's coming next. It's something new every day."

"Yeah, I never liked being cooped up in the Imaging Chamber anyway! I mean, I saw what you saw, but it's not the same." Al shook his head and gestured toward the stars. "Thank god I decided to come here, Sam, or I'd miss out on experiencing these things firsthand. I mean, this is…this is nice." He turned his head and grinned. Sam grinned back. "We're stuck in time with no way to go home, so what? That place was overrated anyway. Maybe for now… _this_ is home." Al nodded at the stars confidently.

Sam was still staring at him. "I'm really glad you're here. I was lost without you, Al."

Al met his gaze again, staring intently. Then…he flicked Sam across the nose.

" _Vaffanculo!_ Get offa me, you creep!"

Sam was jolted awake by the sound of Al's yelling, causing him to tumble out of the bed and wake up Joey in the process. "Stay here!" he ordered as he clumsily got to his feet, but the door was opened by a police officer.

"You're in a lot of trouble, son."

So much for brainstorming.

"You know, we've had a lot of folks looking for you two. Least you could do is talk to me."

Next to Sam in the police station, Joey remained tight-lipped and closed off. They were waiting for their father to pick them up. Sam figured maybe he could've gotten them away at some point, they weren't handcuffed or anything, but Al had been taken into custody, and he wasn't going to leave him behind. Of course, once they were taken away by Rick, Al would be alone anyway.

The officer was speaking to them as he should've spoken to a child, gently and on one knee, but Sam was not a child and he was growing frustrated at how small he felt. Nobody really wanted to hear what a 12-year-old had to say. And the policeman was big and burly, with a full beard, he made Sam feel small enough as an adult. "I'm gonna ask you one more time. What were you doing with Davey Malone?"

" _I told you_ ," Sam said with annoyance, "he was driving us to the Grand Canyon like we asked, that's all. He didn't do anything wrong!"

"I don't know if you know just how much trouble he is, fella," the officer said warningly, "He has a history with us. You know what a prior is?"

Sam glared. "Yes, I know what a prior is."

"Good, well he has a lot of 'em. He's a runaway too. Only he doesn't have any parent looking for him like you do." The officer leaned in closer. "If he said or did anything to make you come with him, got you to help him take anything…you can tell us. No one's gonna judge you."

"Davey isn't the enemy here. Rick Hudson is the one you should be worried about!"

"Whatever argument you had with your dad, it's not worth running away over."

"It wasn't just an argument!" Sam shouted, sitting up straighter. Why wouldn't anyone listen? "He's—"

"I know, I know, I cut off your allowance." The slimy toad was there now, all patronizing smiles. Joey and Sam simultaneously tensed up. "It seems like the end of the world, but it isn't. You'll get it again when you behave."

Sam's mouth hung open incredulously. The officer was buying the whole thing. "That's not what happened! You've gotta—"

"I appreciate you finding my boys," Rick interrupted, shaking the officer's hand, "They can be quite a handful."

"Just doing my job, sir."

"When can I take them with me?"

"Just as soon as we fill out some paperwork."

Joey remained silent, angry heat radiating from him, and Sam was feeling the same within himself. No one was listening.

A few hours and a bottle of Jack Daniels later, Rick was acting a lot more in character. Slouched against the pillows on the motel bed in a drunken stupor, he flipped channels disinterestedly on the TV. Sam and Joey sat by the table in the corner, quietly playing a card game neither of them were invested in, squinting in the crummy yellow light.

"Buck…I'm scared," Joey whispered, eyes glued to the table. Neither of them wanted to get their father's attention.

"Don't be," Sam murmured, keeping his voice low, "He's never gonna hurt you again. I promise."

This promise he intended to keep. For now, he was waiting for his next move. With all that Rick was drinking, he was bound to pass out soon. And when he did, Sam was going to take Joey and get the hell out of there. After that, he'd find some way to leave a message for Al with a rendezvous point. From what he could tell, Davey's rap sheet included mostly minor infractions—petty theft, trespassing, a few other small things—and Rick, not wanting to put too much attention on himself from the law, had declined to press any charges for their supposed kidnapping. With any luck, Al would be out of jail by tomorrow.

"You little shits are gonna get it when we get back," Rick slurred, pointing the bottle in his hand at them. Some of the alcohol splashed out, reminding him he hadn't taken a swig in a few minutes, so he took a big gulp of it. "Bet you had a lot of fun on your little drive. Well guess what? You're gonna work off all the time you cost me with this little stunt. Just you wait." Another swig. "Just you wait."

The cards in Joey's hands started to shake. They were stilled by Sam's hands clasping over his with an encouraging squeeze. _It's going to be okay. Trust me._

They weren't alone _._

"Hello? Is everyone here hard of hearing? I said someone needs to go check on those kids!"

"Yeah, yeah." The officer waved dismissively at Al in his cell, receiving a disgusted look in response.

Well, this was swell. Al didn't feel like this leap was going well at all. In fact, it was going pretty piss poorly, if he had to rate it.

"I'm not making this up!" he said more insistently, "That scuzzbag isn't fit to be a father!"

A baton banged into his cell door, and he jumped. "If you don't quiet down, we'll find something else to keep you here. Make sure it sticks. Understood?" With a warning look, the policeman passed by. Al glared at him, shooting a not so nice gesture at his back, one he learned from his father. Hey, another thing he remembered. "Hey Lonnie…"

Another officer, a big guy with a beard, stopped as he was being addressed by the one with the baton. Maybe he would listen. Al remembered him from the arrest, he was a little nicer than the others. Somewhat. It was hard to know the difference; ever since his run-ins with the law when he was younger, Al found himself distrusting most of 'em. But, well, admittedly he was usually doing something wrong.

Something about the bigger guy caught his attention. The name tag: Officer Taylor.

Nah. Couldn't be. It would be one hell of a coincidence. As Ziggy would say, the odds of running into him would be astronomical.

Since when did he listen to Ziggy anyway?

Officer Baton left, and Al addressed Taylor as he was leaving. "Hey, it's Lonnie, right? You didn't happen to know a Francine Taylor, did you?" He narrowed one eye at the large man, who stopped curiously.

"Maybe."

No way. Al leaned against the bars hopefully. "Did you write her a postcard in 1959? Had the Grand Canyon on it?"

Lonnie's mouth fell agape. Immediately suspicious, he closed in. "She was my sister. How the hell do you know about that?"

If it didn't seem so out of place, and if Sam weren't in trouble, Al could whoop for joy. He couldn't believe his good luck! He leaned even further forward, as far as he could get. "Did you know she had kids?"

Lonnie frowned. "And how would you know _that_?"

"I'll take that as a no."

"She eloped with some stranger shortly after I sent the letter; we lost contact." Lonnie shook his head, now hungry for information. "How did you read that letter? You're not…?" He trailed off as he sized up Al.

"We're not related, trust me," Al answered, lifting his palms, much to Lonnie's relief. Hey, what was that about? Al was slightly offended, but he let it go. "But I did see the letter. Your nephews have it. And right now, they're in really bad hands."

Rick was fumbling with the doorknob. "C'mon," he said over his shoulder, "We're gonna get some take out."

"I don't think you should be driving," Sam insisted sternly. Neither he nor Joey moved from their spots.

"I don't _think_ you should be _thinkin'_ at all," Rick said. When they refused to budge still, he rolled his eyes and grabbed them by the arms, yanking them toward the door.

"Hey!" They were outside before Sam jerked away, prying Rick away from Joey. "Don't touch us." He stepped between him and Joey protectively, then held out his hand. "Give me the keys." There was no way he was letting him out on the road.

Rick stared incredulously, then burst into a chuckle. "You're way outta line, Buck."

"I'm not joking."

"Neither am I. Now c'mere." He reached for them again, but Sam kept himself in the middle of him and Joey. With a single push, he was able to knock the drunken idiot to the ground, the bottle in his hand smashing when he landed. "Son of a-! I oughta knock you senseless!"

This was pathetic. Rick wriggled on the ground, unable to find his balance.

"C'mon, Joey," Sam said, taking him by the hand, "let's go." He received no argument from his brother, and they took their leave.

"HEY!"

Just in time, Sam twisted around to see Rick unsteadily back on his feet and brandishing the broken bottle. The fire that had been building up in Sam flared up, and he moved Joey out of the way. He sent the bottle out of his hands with a swift kick of his leg, leaving the other man stunned. Yelling, he staggered forward with fists raised, but Sam sent a roundhouse into his chest and knocked him over again. He wasn't going to get near Joey. Sam was completely done with this lowlife.

"Back off!"

"Whoa!" Joey's eyes were huge. "How'd you learn to fight like that?!"

"Uhh…TV," Sam clumsily lied. "We're leaving now."

Leave a message, somewhere where Al could find it. Meet up. Solve the leap.

"BUCK! YOU GET OVER HERE!" Rick once again had the bottle in hand, ready to throw it. Sam had seconds to move them out of harm's way. "You lousy little—!"

"DROP THE WEAPON!"

Three heads swiveled over to see Lonnie Taylor, gun raised and pointed at the offending drunk. Instantly, Rick dropped the bottle and raised his hands.

Behind him, Al gave Sam a thumbs up.

They were back in the police station, only this time under much better circumstances. Sam, Al, and Joey sat together as Rick was being led away in cuffs, casting one last hateful look in their direction. Al had filled Sam in on the details, and Sam was more glad than ever to have someone else on this leap to look out for them. For the first time in a long time, he felt confident he'd done what he was supposed to do.

"Joey, Buck." Lonnie leaned down again to talk to them, a face asking for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you."

"S'okay. No one does." Joey didn't seemed particularly enthralled. Maybe because his future was so uncertain.

"But that ends tonight," Lonnie promised, "And you aren't going to live with your father any more. He's not gonna lay a hand on you." Joey looked up, and Lonnie smiled. "How'd you like to come home with your uncle?"

Joey's eyes widened in shock as Sam looked suitably surprised. "You?"

Lonnie's eyes were watering. He nodded. "I think you got my letter." Suddenly Joey threw his arms around Lonnie's neck, nearly knocking him over, and the overwhelmed man hugged him back. Casting a look at Sam, he pulled him into the hug. "I love you boys. We've got a lotta catching up to do."

Joey and Buck were safe now. And, as the tingling sensation building up inside Sam indicated, the leap was almost over. He wondered if Al felt it too.

"Hey." Lonnie pulled back and turned his attention toward Al. "You got anywhere to go tonight?"

Al grinned. "You offerin'?"

"That is, if it's alright with the boys."

"Yes! Yes!" Joey threw his fist into the air, hugging Lonnie again. Something told Sam that Joey would get to bug Davey for a long time after that.

The joy was infectious. Sam and Al locked eyes, and they were both grinning ear to ear. While Lonnie was distracted with Joey, Sam said happily, "Good job, Al."

"Good job, Sam."

Sam wrapped his arms around him, and they leaped.

For now, they were home.


End file.
